Mountain Snow
The Earliest Welsh Poetry, pg. 100
Mountain snow, each region white; Common the raven calling; No good comes of too much slumber.
Mountain snow, deep dingle white; Woods bend before wind's onslaught; Many couples are in love And never come together.
Mountain snow, wind scatters it; Moonlight far-spread, leaves pale; Rare the rogue who claims no rights.
Mountain snow, stag nimble; Common to Britain, proud princes; A stranger requires cunning.
Mountain snow, stag in rut; Ducks on the lake, ocean white; Slow the old, soon overtaken.
Mountain snow, stag bending; The heart laughs for one loved; Though a tale be told of me, I know shame wherever it be.
Mountain snow, shingle white grit; Fish in ford, shelter in cave; Who acts harshly is hated.
Mountain snow, stag in flight; Common for a lord, gleaming blade, And mounting a saddle-bow, And dismounting, anger well-armed.
Mountain snow, stag hunched-up; Many have muttered, truly, This is not like a summer day.
Mountain snow, stag hunted; Whistle of wind over tower eaves; Burdensome, Man, is sin.
Mountain snow, stag bounding; Whistle of wind over high white wall; Common, a quiet beauty.
Mountain snow, stag on sea-strand; An old man knows his youth lost; A foul face keeps a man down.
Mountain snow, stag in grove;
Raven dark-black, roebuck swift;
One free and well, strange he should groan.
Mountain snow, stag in rushes; Marshes freezing, mead in cask; Common for the crippled to groan.
Mountain snow, tower's breast studded; The beast searches for shelter; Pity her who has a bad man.
Mountain snow, crag's breast studded; Reeds withered, herd shunning water; Pity him who has a bad wife.
Mountain snow, stag in gully; Bees are sleeping well-sheltered; A long night suits a robber.
Mountain snow 'liverwort in river;
Wed unwilling to trouble,
The sluggard seeks no swift revenge.
Mountain snow, fish in lake; Falcon proud, prince in splendour; One who has all does not groan.
Mountain snow, lords' front rank red;
Lances angry, abundant;
Ah god, for my brother's anguish!!
Bright Trees (Taliesin by Williams)
Bright are the ash-tops; tall and white will they be When they grow in the upper part of the dingle; The languid heart, longing is her complaint...
Bright are the willow-tops; playful the fish
In the lake; the wind whistles over the tops of the branches;
Nature is superior to learning.
Bright the tops of the furze; have confidence In the wise; and to the universe be repulsive; Except God, there is none that divines.
Bright are the tops of the clover; the timid have no heart; jealous ones weary themselves out; Usual is care upon the weak.
Bright the tops of the reed-grass; furious is the jealous,
And he can hardly be satisfied;
It is the act of the wise to love with sincerity.
Bright the tops of the oat; bitter the ash branches; Sweet the cow-parsnip, the wave keeps laughing; The cheek will not conceal the anguish of the heart.
Bright the tops of the dogrose; hardship has no formality; Let everyone preserve his purity of life. The greatest blemish is ill manners.
Bright the tops of the broom; let the lover make assignations; Very yellow are the clustered branches; Shallow ford; the contented enjoy sleep.
Bright the tops of the apple tree; circumspect is Every prudent one, a chider of another; And after loving, indiscretion leaving it.
Bright the hazel-tops by the hill of Digoll; Unafflicted will be every neglected one; It is an act of the mighty to keep a treaty.
Bright the tops of reeds; it is usual for the sluggish To be heavy, the youth to be learners; None but the foolish will break the faith.
Bright the tops of the lily; let every bold one be a servitor; The word of a family will prevail; Usual with the faithless, a broken word.
Bright the tops of the heath; usual is miscarriage To the timid; water will be intrusive along the shore; Usual with the faithful, an unbroken word.
Bright the tops of rushes; cows are profitable, Running are my tears this day; No comfort is there for the miserable.
Bright the tops of fern, yellow
The charlock; how reproachless are the blind;
How apt to run about are youngsters!
Bright the tops of the service-tree; accustomed to care Is the aged one, and bees to the wilds; 249 Except God, there is no avenger
Bright the tops of the oak; incessant is the tempest-The bees are high; brittle the dry brushwood; Usual for the wanton is excessive laughter.
Bright the tops of the grove; constantly the trees
And the oak leaves are failing;
Happy is he who sees the one he loves.
Bright the tops of the oaks; coldly purls the stream; Let the cattle be fetched to the birch-enclosed area; Abruptly goes the arrow of the haughty to give pain.
Bright the tops of the hard holly; let gold be shared;
When all fall asleep on the rampart,
God will not sleep when he gives deliverance.
Bright the tops of the willows; inherently bold
Will the war-horse be in the long day, when leaves abound;
Those with mutual friends will not hate each other.
Bright the tops of the rushes; prickly will they be
When spread under the pillow;
The wanton mind will be ever haughty.
Bright the tops of the hawthorn; confident the steed; It is usual for a lover to pursue; May the diligent messenger do good.
Bright the tops of the cresses; warlike the steed; Trees are fair ornaments for the ground; Joyful the soul with what it loves.
Bright is the top of the bush; valuable the steed; It is good to have discretion with strength; Let the unskillful be made powerless.
Bright are the tops of the brakes; gay the plumage Of birds; the long day is the gift of the light; Mercifully has the beneficent God made them.
Bright the tops of the meadow-sweet; and music In the grove; bold the wind, the trees shake; Interceding with the obdurate will not avail.
Bright the tops of the elder-trees; bold is the solitary singer;
Accustomed is the violent to oppress;
Woe to him who takes a reward from the hand.
Am I not a candidate for fame to be heard in the song,
In Caer Pedryvan four times revolving
The first word from the cauldron, when was it spoken?
By the breath of nine damsels gently warmed.
Is it not the cauldron of the Chief of Annwn which is social?
With a ridge round its edge of pearls,
It will not boil the food of a coward nor of one excommunicated. A sword bright flashing to him will be brought, And left in the hand of Llyminawg.
And before the door of the porch of hell a lantern is burning. And when we went with Arthur in his splendid labours, Except seven, none returned from Caer Vendiwid.
Am I not a candidate for fame, to be heard in song ? In Caer Pedryfan, the island of Pybyrdor, Twilight and darkness meet together. Bright wine was their drink in their assembly. Thrice the burden of Prydwen we went on the sea. Except seven, none returned from Caer Rigor.
I will not allow great merit to the directors of learning.
Beyond Caer Wydr they have not beheld the prowess of Arthur.
Three score hundred men were placed upon the wall;
It was difficult to converse with the sentinel.
Thrice the fullness of Prydwen we went with Arthur.
Except seven, none returned from Caer Golur.
I will not allow merit to the multitude trailing on the circuit
They know not on what day or who caused it,
Nor what hour in the splendid day Cwy was born,
Nor who prevented him from going to the vales of Deowy.
They know not the brindled ox, with this thick headband,
And seven score knobs in his collar.
And when we went with Arthur of mournful memory,
Except seven, none returned from Caer Vandwy.
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